


scented

by fufaraw (arliss)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arliss/pseuds/fufaraw
Summary: A long time ago, nilchance asked people to describe to her what they think Supernatural characters smell(ed) like. Here's my take. Feel free to add your own in comments.





	scented

Dean smells like leather, plain soap, sugar and salt from candy and cheetos, the barest hint of the "scentless" sports gel he uses in his hair, plus whatever fabric softener they last got on sale. And occasionally, last night's wings and beer.

Sam smells like soap, the last of the balsam and sandalwood cologne Jess gave him, laundry detergent warmed by the body heat contained in layers of clothes, and clean honest sweat. And occasionally, last night's Greek salad and beer.

Ruby smells like the leather jackets she likes, drugstore cologne, mingled cosmetics scents and hair product, all with the slightest sour undertang of wet charred wood.

Missouri smells like bitter herbs and earth, overlaid with lavender, fennel, and dill. And that Avon perfume her momma wore that Missouri wears on Sundays because it's comforting.

Mary smelled like fresh garden earth and sun-dried laundry, with a slight milky undertone that, as clean as she kept herself and her clothes, was always on the verge of souring. Still, it was sweet to John, and comforting to her boys.

Bobby has a scent similar to Missouri's, of bitter herbs. His is overlaid with engine grease and the various fluids cars require, mingled with coffee cooked too long on the burner and Old Spice stick deodorant.

Meg had that leather smell, but a little charred and pungent, over scents of cinnamon and pepper, underlaid by ash and a whiff of stale sex fluids.

Ellen smells like sawdust and Murphy's soap, cigarette smoke and beer layered into her hair and skin in spite of all the showers. There's a bright, light scent mixed in there, though--flowers, cut grass. She catches whiffs of it from her cleavage and the inside of her elbows as she works, and doesn't care whether anyone else does or not.

John wore brimstone and ash like a signature scent, layered with the iodine smell of salt, gunpowder, and despair. Neither his harsh laundry soap nor his cheap shampoo could overcome it. But beneath all that was, warm and sweet, the echo of clean and honest body heat, the smell of healthy skin and flesh. Nobody's gotten close enough in years to catch that scent, though.


End file.
